Too Close for Comfort
by teammccord
Summary: "Jealousy is the green-eyed monster." - Shakespeare
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Because this idea hasn't left my brain since 2.10's arm-candy comment, and it cracks me up. There may be a chapter that reverses the roles, stay tuned. Set somewhere in Season 2? Reviews make me smile.

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" _Jealously is the green-eyed monster."_

…

There was no denying that Henry McCord was an attractive man. He was also kind and compassionate, that rare person who was almost too perfect for his own good. Henry also happened not to be aware of the extent of his perfection, always humble about any praise he received, which only served to fuel the fire.

Being such an all-around good guy, he'd had admirers all through school and college, some more subtle than others in voicing their desires for a man who was in no way single. The women had seemed to follow him into his professional life as well, both as a professor and in his intelligence work. Usually, he calmly and sweetly brushed them off, and they understood, but some were more persistent.

Elizabeth, being the trained analyst she was, was always acutely aware of Henry's female admirers. His "cult following," as she jokingly called them. They ranged from ditzy college students who had crushes on their professor to colleagues who did not seem to value the vows either they themselves had taken, or the McCords', or both.

Now rationally, Elizabeth knew nothing would ever come of any of these misguided flirtations, because Henry was faithful to her, as she was to him. Rationally, Elizabeth knew she had nothing to worry about, that their love and their bond were solid. Rationally, they were _it_ for one another, and nothing could come between that.

But there was a little nagging voice in Elizabeth's head, that little bit of irrationality that festered. "Jealousy is the green-eyed monster," Shakespeare said, and Elizabeth couldn't agree more. Jealousy was a bitch.

It happened every once in a while, a flirtation would go too far, one Elizabeth noticed when she was just having a particularly stressful day. She never doubted Henry in these situations, but seeing him with another woman made her blood boil.

That's when jealous Elizabeth came out, who also happened to be a version of passive aggressive Elizabeth — and that was not an Elizabeth anyone wanted to be on the bad side of.

…

She found Henry grabbing coffee in a break room in the White House one morning, having herself been summoned to the sit room to check in on a situation developing halfway across the world. No activity had been detected for a good three quarters of an hour, and so Conrad had given everyone who needed it a ten-minute break to stretch their legs. Elizabeth had used the opportunity to go look for some coffee, and wound up at the doorway to a break room where her husband was pouring himself a cup and chatting away.

Chatting with a woman, she noted. Not that that was an inherent problem. Henry had worked with many women, whom Elizabeth liked and respected, and who had proven themselves great friends to both McCords.

But none of those women stood _quite_ so close to her husband when they talked, and none batted their eyelids _quite_ so profusely in the process. And they definitely did not brush their hands up Henry's arm as he reached over for the cream, giggling like schoolgirls at the contact.

She was pretty, Elizabeth had to admit. Tall, a redhead, her hair swept up into an artful bun, loose tendrils framing her freckled face and alabaster skin. She dressed well too, in a black blazer and a navy dress that brought out the green in her eyes. She and Henry seemed to be having an intense discussion, but their physical proximity was what worried Elizabeth most, the way the woman leaned ever so close when Henry spoke, trying to catch every syllable.

Elizabeth had enough — she needed to step in or she'd turn into a raging bundle of nerves. She moved quickly across the room to the coffee, brushing her hand high against Henry's thigh as he turned around to face her.

"Hey," she breathed, as Henry's eyes widened at the contact and the tone her voice had adopted.

"Hi Elizabeth," he managed, steadying himself. "Uhh, this is Maggie," he added, motioning over to the redhead who smiled demurely.

"Pleased to meet you, Madam Secretary," she said with the tiniest hint of disdain in her tone, offering her hand. Having picked up on that immediately, Elizabeth shook it reluctantly, her placid facial expression perfectly hiding the waves of annoyance that ebbed and flowed.

"Maggie works as an Associate Counsel," Henry said, utterly oblivious to any of what was going on between his wife and the other woman.

Elizabeth was pouring herself a cup of coffee now, and she looked over and nodded politely at his comment, though it honestly didn't interest her in the least. "I'm sorry, but I've got to get back to the sit room," she said instead, leaning over to kiss Henry on the cheek and give Maggie a pointed look.

With that, she stepped out of the room without so much as a backward glance, and Henry was left stunned and a little confused as to why his wife had been so curt.

"So, you were saying…" Maggie started again, and Henry turned around, still in a bit of a daze. He snapped out of it quickly and found his train of thought.

"Uhhh, yes. We're really trying to use the asset's connections to our advantage…"

…

The break room interaction had been bothering Elizabeth all day; she couldn't stop herself from thinking back to how Maggie's hand had rested on Henry's arm, how she'd leaned in _just so._ She forced herself to snap out of it and concentrate on the mounds of paperwork that were covering her desk, not that they were interesting enough to keep her focused anyway.

See, normally, Elizabeth would brush off incidents like this and move on, but sometimes, once in a blue moon, the feeling would linger and begin to fester — the jealously that she knew wasn't warranted but she failed to control.

Right now, Elizabeth's rational mind was failing her, and her brain was coming up with the most outlandish scenarios. What if Maggie followed Henry around the White House? Pulled him into a secluded hallway? Leaned even closer to whisper in his ear?

"Ma'am," Blake said as he appeared in her office, ripping her out of her thoughts. Thank God, she thought. "The Dutch ambassador is waiting in the conference room, after which I'm afraid you'll be needed in the White House again. Something moved, apparently. I was told you'd know what that means."

She sighed and stood up, knowing exactly what that meant. Their little sit room situation was progressing, albeit at a snail's pace. That explained why she still had time to see the ambassador before she went back. "Thank you Blake," she said. "I'll be out of this meeting soon, will you make sure I have a car waiting?"

"Of course."

"Thank you," she said again, walking through the door. The kid really was a godsend.

The meeting with the ambassador was quick and painless, and Elizabeth was glad for the few minutes of uninterrupted silence as she headed to the White House, trying to think of nothing at all. Of course, that didn't work, her thoughts immediately went back to the redhead and she sighed. She hated to admit she was jealous, but it was futile to refute. She was jealous, and she'd just have to deal with it. She trusted Henry completely, and yes, maybe he was oblivious to the flirtation, but she could count on him not taking it anywhere.

Maggie on the other hand, could be up to anything, she thought, and that made the jealously even more intense.

Back in the White House, Elizabeth made her way to the sit room and opened the door just as something was happening, so she didn't have a minute to scan her surroundings but instead was whisked right in and glued her eyes to the screen.

"Bess, it seems as though Murphy's Station may benefit from this intel," Conrad said once it had calmed down a little. Elizabeth nodded, taking the information to mean she'd brief them later.

She was surprised then when Henry seemed to materialize out of nowhere. "Mr. President," he said, addressing Conrad, "I think this intel will be extremely helpful and further allow us to pinpoint HS's location."

"Good. I still want you to keep working with the Counsel's office on this, we don't want to find ourselves in any sticky legal situations after all this is over."

"Of course not, sir. Maggie has confirmed we've hit no grey areas yet."

Maggie. Henry was working with Maggie? Elizabeth's blood was boiling.

"Yes, Mr. President, everything looks sound at the moment." Speak of the devil. Maggie herself now appeared, moving dangerously close to Henry once again. Elizabeth closed her eyes and willed the image to go away. She opened them again to a confused look from Henry, who was standing on the opposite side of the conference table. Good God, it was excruciating, she thought, seeing Maggie next to her husband. And then she leaned over to whisper something in his ear and Elizabeth felt her blood boil.

"Elizabeth, we're going to need you to set up a meeting with the Libyan ambassador tonight," Russell said then, and she nodded. Anything to get her out of that room.

…

It was late that night when Henry opened the front door to the house and walked into the foyer. He took off his shoes and coat and dropped his bag on the floor. It was only then that he saw the light was on in their office and he peered in, surprised to find Elizabeth sitting in the armchair, eyeing him.

"You're home late," she said.

"Yeah, we got stuck in the office working out the legal kinks. I missed you."

She had to force herself not to get up and let him scoop her up in his arms right then, she had to stay steadfast. "We? You mean you and Maggie?"

"Yeah," Henry said, still the poster child for blissful ignorance. "What about it?"

"You, and Maggie, alone, late at night…" she trailed off, her voice laced with contempt.

"Baby, I can guarantee nothing happened," Henry said quickly, finally realizing what was bothering her. "Hey, I love _you_. No one else but you, okay?" He dipped down to press a kiss to the crown of her head, taking her hand in his and pulling her to a standing position.

"I know," she sighed, "rationally…"

It had clicked now, and Henry couldn't help the grin spreading across his face. "Elizabeth, were you jealous?"

She blushed furiously at that, dipping her head and staring at a spot on the floor. Henry pushed her chin up so she had to look him in the eyes. "Maybe," she whispered, suddenly embarrassed she'd even entertained the thought.

"Baby, you have nothing to be worried about. I love you."

"I love you too." Henry met her lips then, and wrapped his arms around her slim frame. She arched into the kiss, trying to increase their contact, threading her fingers through his salt and pepper hair.

Damn right, she had nothing to worry about, he thought, because no one set his senses on fire like Elizabeth McCord. She was his as he was hers. It was that simple.

When the kiss broke and they both caught their breath, Henry kept her close, his arms still wrapped loosely around the small of her back, hers around his neck. They just stood there for a little while, content in the silence.

"So, you were jealous, huh?" Henry teased, having removed any actual concern from the situation.

"Idiot," she said, shoving him playfully.

"It's cute, baby. Really."

"Aha. I could say the same about your total lack of perception when it comes to women hitting on you."

"Point made," he acquiesced, chuckling. "Maybe it just means I'm too handsome for my own good," he flirted.

"Shut up," she said, unable to keep from laughing. "You can't let the cult following get to your head."

"That's where you come in; you bring me right back to earth, babe."

"Hmm, yeah, it's one of my talents. Did you leave the dirty pan in the sink last night?"

"And there you go," he said, chuckling.

He kissed her again, and she melted into his touch, dirty pans and redheads named Maggie soon forgotten as they kissed the life out of one another. Breaking apart for air, Henry nudged his head up at the staircase and winked. Elizabeth immediately knew what he was up to and grabbed his hand, leading them both upstairs.

What better way was there to prove that all her jealousy had been _totally_ unwarranted?

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 _Fin_.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thank you so much for the amazing feedback on the first chapter! As one of you said, the show has always subtly hinted at the jealousy ;) Here you have Henry's perspective on other men and Elizabeth. I don't see him as the overtly jealous type, but rather protective/possessive… Let me know if I'm totally off-base here! Enjoy, and reviews make me happy on the inside._

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Elizabeth looked even more stunning than usual in a blue, satin ballgown that perfectly brought out her eyes. Her hair pulled back with a shimmering headband, she stood on the other side of the room, chatting away with some foreign diplomat, someone Henry hadn't bothered to identify by name yet.

He stood alone in a doorway, grateful for the little moment of peace, and also for his perch — it gave him a good overview of the whole room, allowing him to observe everything happening around him. The dinner was in full swing, a jazz band in the corner playing a lively tune, everybody socializing politely and sipping champagne.

The dignitary who was the guest of honour was some sheikh from a place with a lot of oil, Henry wasn't sure exactly where, but the guests ranged from an Italian delegation to attendees from Argentina. It was perfectly orchestrated, very elegant, and positively diplomatic, everything you'd want from a dinner hosted by the US State Department.

Not that Henry was particularly interested in that.

No, he was more focused on the way the man standing next to his wife was acting, how he was leaning over ever so slightly, how he could practically _feel_ his breath hit her skin, far too close for comfort. His hands tightened in fists at his sides, and he had to will himself to uncurl his fingers, taking a deep breath. He was being irrational, he kept telling himself. Nothing was happening.

The man was good-looking, sure, and that wasn't the inherent problem. No, Henry took the sultry looks he was giving his wife to mean much more. The looks, coupled with the toothy grins he was flashing made his blood boil. And now, to the tune of Glenn Miller, this good-looking, toothy-grinned man was asking Elizabeth to dance — which for obvious diplomatic reasons, she really couldn't have refused.

As Elizabeth spun around the dance floor, Henry couldn't keep his eyes off her. He was transfixed, mesmerized by her beauty, and at the same time, eyeing her with a protective gaze.

…

Ever since Henry had met Elizabeth, he'd been captured by her spell. She amazed him every day, her entire being captivated her. Elizabeth was arguably the smartest person he knew, quick-witted, and she always kept him on his toes.

His attraction to her had become irrevocable, he swore there could be no force strong enough in the universe to pull them apart. Not that life hadn't tried.

His deployment had happened, his family's obvious disapproval of his choice in partner, her CIA work, his missions with the NSA, Baghdad, Iran, the DIA, Dmitri, Talia, the list went on and on.

Even when all the signs were pointing at them coming apart, they found one another again, and came back together, like magnets attracted to the same pole. They beat all the odds, _together_ , because weathering the storm was so much easier when you were not alone.

Henry had gotten to the point in his life where he struggled to define himself as a person without Elizabeth in the equation. His love for her was all-consuming, and he saw them as a unit, a team, two people that were so connected that they worked as one.

It wasn't in Henry's nature to be jealous. He knew Elizabeth would never do anything to threaten what they had. They were both too committed, in too deep to jeopardize the connection they shared.

What Henry felt instead, increasingly often due to Elizabeth's new role, was a sense of protectiveness toward his wife.

Her job came with lots of new colleagues and foreign officials who were not as comfortable with women in high-ranking positions as they should be. Henry understood they sometimes felt threatened by her power, and it filled him with a sense of rage that they used their masculinity to mask their insecurities. As a result of that, Elizabeth heard subtle pointed comments, misogyny, and snide remarks on a near-daily basis. She'd developed a thick skin — after all, this had been going on with varying levels of intensity since her work with the CIA.

It was still rather new to Henry, since he'd been further removed from her work at Langley; but now, their jobs intersected publicly and privately. So hearing the chatter sent him into a rage.

It was Elizabeth who normally calmed him down, told him she was used to it by now, that it was a reality she had to accept in order to do her job. It amazed him how she took it all in stride, out of necessity and sheer force of will. And it infuriated him all over again, that this was her _normal_ , and that countless other women faced the same thing. His protective side brought out his feminist streak, which made Elizabeth so glad she had him — that he understood, and that he wouldn't let sexism go unnoticed.

…

Henry was still standing in his corner at the dinner, watching his wife being swept across the dance floor by the guy with the toothy grin (he'd decided to nickname him Beaver). A waiter had passed by a little while earlier, and he now stood in his alcove, nursing a flute of champagne.

A man walked up then, who looked to be in his late fifties, and introduced himself. "Dr. McCord, my name is Jack Bromstad. I've read many of your books, I'm a huge fan."

Momentarily shaken out of his concentration, Henry peeled his eyes away from Elizabeth and Beaver to shake the stranger's hand. "Nice to meet you," Henry said. "I'm afraid I haven't come across your name at any conferences. Where do you work?"

"Ahh, I'm not a religious scholar, strictly speaking. I write historical fiction that happens to include theologians on occasion. It's a hobby of mine. I'm here with my wife, actually, as I assume you are too. She works at the Canadian Embassy."

Henry was glad to be in the company of someone in a similar situation, and the two men fell into easy discussion. They talked about Augustine and Aquinas, about religion in general, and about their wives. They talked about the fact that they were so incredibly proud of the things they achieved every single day, and the fact that they hated the hoops they had to jump through just because they were women. It was true, and it made Henry furious, that just because she was a woman, Elizabeth had to prove herself more than any man would ever have to.

The song had come to an end, and Beaver had stopped dancing with Elizabeth, which meant Henry saw a perfect opening. He excused himself and said goodbye to Jack, setting down his champagne and crossing the room like he was a man on a mission.

…

Meanwhile, Elizabeth had finally finished her dance with the Italian Consul, who was attending the dinner in lieu of the ambassador, who was at home with the flu. The man was stereotypically macho, and quite slimy in the way he spoke and acted, leaning closely and managing to breathe on her whenever he dipped his head down. She was thoroughly creeped out by his actions, and her nose burnt from the sheer amount of cologne he wore, coupled with the gel he'd used to slick back his hair.

He had large front teeth, and something about them reminded Elizabeth of some sort of animal, though she couldn't pinpoint what. The thought kept her occupied though the cringe-worthy dance they shared, and she was glad for the distraction.

Sure, she had developed a certain level of immunity from the less than courteous men she'd had to deal with in the past, but some still rubbed her the wrong way. The Consul was one of them and she was looking desperately for a way out of the conversation, but none of her staff were close by, the sheikh with all the oil was on the opposite side of the room, and Henry was nowhere to be seen. She was stuck.

She felt a tap on her shoulder then, and spun around to see Henry looking at her with a sheepish grin. "May I have this dance?" he asked, gesturing to the dance floor. The band was playing one of those tunes that everyone played at formals in college, and Elizabeth was flooded with memories at countless dances she'd shared with Henry over the years.

She looked over at the Consul and began an apology. "Madam Secretary," he interrupted in his heavy accent. "Go dance! It suits you so well, bella." He pulled her hand to his lips and placed a sloppy kiss on it, before turning on his heel and crossing the room, in search of his next innocent conversation partner.

Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief as he left, and gratefully let Henry lead her out to the dance floor. They swayed gently as the music lulled before picking up pace, and she looked up into her husband's eyes which were deep with love and admiration and something else.

"You're stunning," he whispered, pulling her close as he spun them across the room. She melted into his embrace, and they moved as one — fluid, practised and perfected after nearly three decades of dancing together. They needed no words, their gazes speaking volumes.

As the music died down at the end of the song, Henry dipped Elizabeth, and she gasped at the unexpected move. As he pulled her up again, she grinned at him, and he flashed her a dazzling smile. He pressed a kiss to her lips, chaste considering their surroundings, and she smiled again. He was the perfect partner, for dancing and in life.

Elizabeth grabbed Henry's hand and pulled him into the nearest secluded hallway, as he gave her a confused look. She quickly scanned her surroundings, making sure they were alone, before pushing him up against the wall and kissing the life out of him. After a moment of confusion, he melted into the kiss and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

Breaking apart for air, breathing hard, Henry looked at his wife, puzzled. "What was that for?"

"I haven't told you this enough — I really like you in a tux."

"Well, I really like you in that dress," Henry flirted back, pressing a kiss to Elizabeth's temple. His gaze lingered, his eyes roaming appreciatively, and Elizabeth instantly knew something was up. She pushed him back a little so she could look in his eyes and gave him a look, silently asking him to open up.

"I don't know, babe, I just saw you with that guy, the way he was looking at you, and leaning over, and I just couldn't stand it. He was just a little too close for comfort." He looked at her with a self-conscious expression, like he didn't want to admit it had bothered him, like that would somehow make him seem possessive, in a bad way.

"Hey, don't feel bad," she quickly reassured him, resting her palms by his lapels as his hands snaked around her waist to the small of her back. "He creeped me out too. I mean, I've gotten used to men being forward sometimes, but he was a bit much. His teeth too, God, they reminded me of some animal…"

"I nicknamed him Beaver," Henry said, unable to hide a smile.

"Yes! That's perfect! He totally is a beaver." She laughed, and it was carefree and infectious, and he couldn't help but laugh along.

"I love you," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of her hair. His face grew serious again, and she responded quickly.

"I love you too."

"It just makes me so mad to see the way you're treated in this job sometimes, babe. Just because you're a woman doesn't mean you're worth any less. Hell, I'd argue the whole pregnancy thing pushes you up by a factor of like, a million."

"I know. I guess, as sad as it sounds, we have to live with the idiots and wait to find guys like you," she said, winking. "Feminists with a whole lot more respect than Beaver over there."

"Yeah. But what about our girls, babe?"

"I say we've taught them exactly what to look for."

"You're incredible, you know that?"

"I had a feeling." She grinned and pressed her lips to his in another searing kiss. After the kiss broke, they stood there for a little while, not talking much, before they returned to real life, with people and dancing, and idiots they named Beaver. But out in that hallway, only one thing mattered.

She was his as he was hers. It was that simple.

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 _Fin._


End file.
